Cursed
by DarkestAngellic
Summary: Even Vincent Valentine is powerless to help a friend when the Goddess herself decides they should return to the Lifestream.


_****__**Disclaimer:**__** I own nothing from FFVII, not the settings, not the characters, not the names. Nothing. I own absolutely nothing. It is all the property of the wonderful Square Enix.**_

* * *

_**Host… Chaos smells of sickness…**_

_What? _The whine from Galian is wholly unexpected, momentarily stopping Vincent in his tracks just outside the kitchen. Sanguine gaze peers in to the havoc beyond the doorway, watching the demonic WEAPON help Marlene in her efforts to bake cookies for the school fair the following day. He didn't _look_ sick…

_**Host, he reeks of ill health. The stench is like sour milk to us. Something plagues him.**_

_It's probably just a mutated strain of human sickness, Galian, perhaps the common cold. He will be fine._ He had to be. It was _Chaos, _for crying out loud. The sudden burst of giggles from Marlene draws his attention back to the scene before him, to find that Chaos is flicking water off his claws in her direction, the gentle grin reserved only for youngsters tugging at his lips in a friendly revealing of sharp teeth. Yes… just a minor compromising of his health, if he was still this lively…

* * *

It's after that comment from Galian that he takes to watching the former resident of his head, stolen glances here and careful monitoring there, looking for any signs of deteriorating health. Even as observant as he is, Vincent can't find anything out of the ordinary. The demon still plays with Marlene and sits through her braiding of his hair whenever he's at Seventh Heaven, still takes Denzel flying and helps Tifa keep the customers in check when they've had too much to drink. Still goes on monster clear-outs for Reeve and drops off a few items here and there when Cloud is swamped in deliveries. He continues to ward off Yuffie's every attempt at latching her sticky little fingers on his materia, cheerfully tormenting the Turks and Shinra whenever they make the mistake of crossing his path, and so far as Vincent can tell, he's still happy with Sephiroth. The cool packs sometimes settled over his shoulders are new, but then Chaos has always run at a higher temperature than humans and it was bound to cause some mild discomfort in the middle of summer. The faintest hint of shadows under his eyes could be put down to the nightmares starting to plague him again - the same ones Sephiroth had to wake him from in a timely manner before he levelled a building out of the belief he was about to be attacked.

But other than that there was _no_ outward sign of illness, and Sephiroth certainly wasn't voicing any concerns about Chaos' health. Perhaps whatever virus had soured his scent to Galian's senses was being killed off slowly but surely…

It is just Vincent's luck, then, that the day he finally settles into that cautiously optimistic belief is also the day Chaos collapses with only a pained hiss as warning before he drops to the ground hard enough to all but rattle the floor. Even more alarming is that the WEAPON doesn't get back up, nor even stir when his name is called and little Marlene shakes his shoulder.

* * *

It's his back that's the problem, they realise. Wrestling off the upper part of his bodysuit had revealed once smooth expanse of soft grey and hard muscle to be an unhealthy patchwork of pasty white blotches. Dry in some places, wet in others, oozing as though leaking pus, though the fluid is as oddly coloured as the markings spattered from shoulders down to the bottom of his ribs. Touching the area has a faint moan of protest from the otherwise silent lump of unmoving WEAPON on the bed, and Galian's suspicions are confirmed - Chaos is sick. Though with what, they can't tell. No other cases of such an ailment have been reported, Vincent had called in a favour from Tseng to do some investigating. No hospital records, no notes from a doctor in a run-down practice, no whispers of it on the streets and no hints of it in any of Hojo's work (what remained of his notes, anyway). It's something new, and confined only to the WEAPON; that it is able to down him as it has is worrying all on its own, but there's dread in Vincent's head, emanating from where the other three demons have taken to hiding rather than answer any questions.

Sephiroth snaps at Tifa's suggestion that she wrap bandages around the inflicted area, to absorb that odd liquid if nothing else, so Vincent does the job for her. The former General doesn't trust him, per se (not that Vincent can blame him), but he's aware that Chaos would if he were awake, and so Masamune is withdrawn from the cold bite against his neck. The strong body under his hands twitches with even the smallest touch to his back, a noise so pained breaking the quiet of the room that Vincent pauses in carefully wrapping the bandages around him, Sephiroth glancing at still face while still holding the upper body clear of the mattress. Still Chaos hasn't woken, but there's a set to his face that all but screams of discomfort, and they speed up their efforts.

* * *

"You're sick, Chaos."

"How nice of you to notice."

"How long have you been sick?"

"A few weeks at the most."

"… Do you know what this is?" That earns him a glare from the WEAPON, and were he unaware of how serious this is, he'd have smiled at how infuriated Chaos looks.

"If I did I would be looking for a cure or reliever, would I not?"

"… Hn."

"I have a reason to live, Valentine, we both know that. If I knew what was wrong, I would be looking for a way to damn well _fix_ it."

* * *

Two weeks later, Chaos falls unconscious again. If it weren't for the steady - thankfully - rise and fall of his chest, Vincent would think he was dead with how _oblivious_ he is to his surroundings. Not even Yuffie and Cid screaming at each other in the kitchen rouses him. Sephiroth discovers bruises when he cleans off his partner's body - something to keep his hands busy, to seem as though he's actually able to _do_something in a situation he's powerless to control - violent blooms of colour painted across collarbone and several on his abdomen; the same places he'd been struck in the latest fight he'd broken up in the bar. He'd sustained those several days ago, and they still look only hours old.

His healing's been compromised. That knowledge alone has Vincent feeling the same dread his demons have been broadcasting.

Chaos regains consciousness late the following night, rolled onto his side and in obvious pain, panting for breath and latching onto Vincent's arm so tightly he manages to crack the bone.

"Valentine, my _wings_. It _hurts_." He knows already, he's seen the white marring their bases of jet and crimson. Whatever it is, it's spreading and Chaos is suffering for it. They don't know how to stop it.

* * *

A mattress is too firm for his ruined back to handle, a large collection of pillows too soft to offer the support he needs. He can't lie on his front without his breathing altering into a stuttering rhythm that never fails to send Sephiroth into a panic that he's about to dissolve into the Lifestream in a matter of moments. The demon needs what little rest he can get between the nightmares and the agony following him even into the realm of slumber, and so they help him back to Sephiroth's home. It's even more withdrawn from society than Chaos' house, and it's larger They need the space.

Vincent is welcomed as permanent house guest without protest.

* * *

Reeve comes up with the idea of some kind of a memory gel… bed thing. The temperature could be altered with just the barest use of magic - which Sephiroth takes to performing - but predominantly remains cool enough to provide some relief when the fevers plague him and rob him of coherent thought. Shortly after it becomes an addition to the house, Chaos' health takes another nosedive into dangerous territory.

He's weak and shaky, needing to use the walls for support whenever he musters up the will to navigate his way through the house without their aid. Quiet, too, barely uttering more than five words in a day, voice raw and scratchy from the nightly screaming that'll ring in Vincent's ears for years to come. This kills him inside, watching Chaos deteriorate. It shouldn't even be possible for him to be sick, and here he was, almost bedridden and barely clinging to his sanity. This WEAPON wasn't supposed to be weak, wasn't supposed to be vulnerable, and yet the only protection he'd have in the event of an attack is the fact both Sephiroth and Vincent would murder without hesitation to keep him safe. This creature was supposed to eventually end all life on the Planet, and yet it seemed that Death came ever closer to him with every breath he took. The cause for alarm, however, is when he can no longer keep blood down. He tries, but without fail ends up vomiting, and it tires him to fight against his body's urging to expel it. By the seventh attempt he doesn't even bother.

Weak, shaky, battered with attacks of severe agony, plagued by the occasional hallucination, exhausted, and now starving to top it off. _This shouldn't be happening._

* * *

The fever stops. In its place comes the cold, rendering Chaos icy to the touch on every part of his body. A scary thing on its own - that Sephiroth _and_ Galian Beast curled around him cannot get heat back into him is downright terrifying. How long has it been since he first collapsed? Three weeks? Four? More than that? Vincent can't remember. His days consist now of hovering near the WEAPON just as Sephiroth does, working together so that he's never left alone even when they have their own needs to take care of. It's inevitable, really, they'd be fools to think otherwise. He's too weak to even haul himself into a proper sitting position now and the white blotches have spread to cover his chest and climb up his neck towards his face (there's even a web effect on his left cheek). It's only a matter of time before the Lifestream claims him.

"Chaos?" He's pressed up against the WEAPON, needing such close proximity to hear the faint beating of what used to be a strong heart. No doubt Sephiroth will be back in ten minutes or so - the man's taken to speed-eating given his lover's current condition.

"… Hm?"

"You know what this is." Statement, not a question. Chaos wouldn't have been so accepting of his likely death if he didn't.

"… Yes… I do. That time… recalled to the Lifestream… you remember?"

"You told Sephiroth it was Minerva's doing."

"It was… as is this… Not Geostigma but… Minerva's version of it. My curse… for rebelling."

"… You mean _she's_ killing you? _Willingly_?"

"A price I am willing… to pay."

_In exchange for what, old friend? What could be so important that you endure this torment?_

"… Vincent?"

"Yes?"

"You recall me telling you of the Lifestream… I was born from?"

"Yes…"

"Tell Sephiroth of it… please. He needs to know… there's a place for him." And there's the confirmation in that scratchy voice - he'll be leaving. Chaos always was aware of when he'd be dissolving into the Lifestream, and now was no different.

* * *

_I'll be waiting, Sephiroth. There's a place for you now, a place you can rest. We're all here, the ones Chosen and wronged by Minerva._

_The tainted stream is our sanctuary._

_I'll be waiting._

_She can't have you. Ever. I'll kill her first._


End file.
